


Define Specialty

by mandaree1



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Family Fluff, Louie Runs Into Stuff, Mild Mention of Injuries, Self-confidence/esteem Issues, Spoilers for The Most Dangerous Game... Night!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: Louie tries to take Scrooge's advice to heart. Problem is, everyone has a different idea what his advice means.





	Define Specialty

_Strat·e·gy. /'stradəjē/_

_Noun._

_A plan of action or policy designed to achieve a major or overall aim._

Louie squinted at the small screen of his phone. He didn't typically read on it, and he especially didn't read tiny Gobble definitions on it, but the chances he could get up and over to his laptop without stirring his brothers was next to none. He really didn't want to deal with that tonight.

 _Basic rules of strategy_ , he typed in, finding a link to a Blackjack guide. The youngest contemplated it a moment before bookmarking it for later. If he  _had_  to work to get money, he'd prefer that work to be something only as arduous as shuffling a deck of cards. Louie tried  _laws of strategy_  next, and found a list of basic war strategies. Not exactly encouraging, but he skimmed it nonetheless.

Frustrated, Louie reluctantly turned his phone off entirely, setting it aside. His hand brushed the cool surface of the gold statue. He pulled it closer, nestling it under the blankets. He's never been given something so expensive before. It really, _really_  sucks there's sentimental value to it now, or he could jet on down to the nearest pawn shop and make a pretty penny.

...Did that count as a strategy? Was selling it strategic? Or was it just selfish- taking something his Uncle had gifted him for an important reason, only to turn and contemplate chucking it at strangers for money?

Louie sighed, running his hands across his face. Thinking smart wasn't hard. Louie always tried to think ahead. But if Uncle Scrooge thought it was something he could use on adventures, but had yet to tap into that deep, that meant he wasn't doing it right. He had to compartmentalize it somehow; make a bunch of fancy labels and lines to follow and build off of.

He's never needed a how-to guide before.

Maybe that was his problem. That he just assumed he didn't need something, when actually he did. Louie stared up at the bottom of Dewey's bunk and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

_Un·der·stand·ing. /ˌəndərˈstandiNG/_

_Adjective._

_Sympathetically aware of other people's feelings; tolerant and forgiving._

Louie was so focused on his morning can of Pep he didn't notice the counter until he'd smacked his bill into it. Dewey, equally sleepy but not requiring any caffeine to rejuvenate, laughed as he rubbed at it, grumbling under his breath. It was far from the first time he'd done it, of course, but after that long speech about analyzing and stuff it felt particularly humiliating.

After procuring his soda, he hopped up onto a barstool, watching with slitted eyes as Huey paged through the guidebook with one hand and ate a very neat bagel with the other. It was too far away for him to read the tiny writing, but Louie knew his brother well enough to know that it was likely the chapter on preparing for an active day. He read it every morning.

Reading was something Louie didn't partake in often, but it was probably strategic to, right? Know thy enemy was a thing, and there was no greater enemy to a conduck than a nerd with facts and logic backing them up as they destroy your con. It probably wouldn't hurt to have a better working knowledge of curses and magic, either. But that was more Webby-level research, and Louie couldn't imagine putting half the effort into  _anything_  that Webby put into things as simple as tying shoelaces, let alone her studies. No thanks.

"Huey," Louie said, once Dewey had gotten up and ran out to do something. Probably wake Scrooge. As unbearably chipper as their Great Uncle could be, it was practically impossible to get him up once he fell into a deep sleep, which their middle brother had taken as a challenge. "You know strategy stuff, right?"

Huey's eyes flickered up from the book. "There's a whole chapter on it in the JWG," he chirped. "Why?"

Louie shrugged. "Uncle Scrooge said I was good at 'reading a situation'. I'm still trying to figure out what that means."

"Like, reading a room?" Huey carefully bookmarked the page, surprising Louie. He never stopped reading that thing- even to be a big bro. "You are pretty good at that."

"He was talking about my plan the other night."

"That  _was_  pretty neat."

Louie shrugged again.

"Louie?" prompted Huey.

Louie took a second sip from his Pep. It was nowhere near as tasty as the first. "He also said that mom could do it too."

There was a short pause. "So, what? Mom was good at smoozing?"

"I guess? I'm still trying to puzzle that part out."

Huey reached across the table to pat his hand. "We all take after mom in some way. I'm book smart. Dewey's super gutsy and brave. Now we know where you fit into it."

"Nature verses nurture?"

"And here I thought you didn't pay attention in class."

"I don't. I have, like, school dreams. They teach me in my sleep." Louie stared at the smooth countertop. It was black. There was probably more to it than that, but all he knew was that it was black. "You think we take after Uncle Donald too?"

"Louie," said Huey. "Remember that one town picnic where Tommy Bollinger kept picking on Dewey, so we super-glued him into his sack, and then Mr. Bollinger told Uncle Donald we were stupid and Uncle Donald knocked out his front teeth?"

"I still regret not getting video of that."

"We have Uncle Donald in us. We have mom in us. We even have Uncle Scrooge in us." Huey hesitated, then reluctantly pushed the book across the way. "You want to look over the chapter?"

Louie immediately pushed it back. "No, thanks. I'd rather not deal with a Duke of Destruction level breakdown because I spilled something on the pages."

* * *

_Cou·ra·geous. /kəˈrājəs/_

_Adjective._

_Not deterred by danger or pain; brave._

"You ever notice that suits of armor are waay bigger than basically anyone we've ever met?" Dewey asked as he perched precariously on the shoulder of said armor, lifting and dropping the visor.

"No," Louie said honestly, watching his brother with his hands in his pockets. "Why does Uncle Scrooge bring you to this club if you're not even allowed in?"

"We always stop here on the way to the store," he replied, trying the helmet on. "You just fake sick every time we go shopping, so you never come."

"I didn't want to come  _today_. I feel personally insulted that he made me break my personal record. And for what? To stand around?"

Glomgold's voice carried over from the room next to them. "SO YEW CAN WATCH ME DESTROY YER UNCLE'S SELF-ESTEEM WITH A GAME OF CHECKERS!"

"We can't watch anything from over here!" Dewey yelled back.

"Chess would be more impressive!" Louie added, though he didn't know how to play either very well.

"I FORGOT THE CHESS BOARD AT HOME OKAY!?" Glomgold exploded. "AND WHY AREN'T YE QUIVERING IN FEAR FER YER UNCLE'S LIFE YET?"

"Dude, you're like a secondary murderous Uncle at this point," Dewey said. "I'm more scared that you'll get me a dull axe for Christmas instead of a zipline like I asked."

Louie had unhooked the glove of the armor, and was testing it on his small hands. "You send us birthday cards and everything."

"THERE WAS AN EXPLOSIVE INSIDE!"

" _And_  twenty bucks."

"THAT WAS TA' LURE YEW TOWARDS THE EXPLOSIVE INSIDE!"

"I'll be out in a minute, kids," Scrooge cut in, and judging by the loud noise after he had won and stood before Glomgold could upturn the table onto him.

Dewey slipped off the giant armor set and plunked the helmet onto Louie's head. "There! Knights are all strategic, right? We could call upon King Arthur's ghost and have him strategize ya'."

Louie lifted the visor. "I don't want to be a knight. That's a lot of work just to get stabbed in the gut and bleed to death in the middle of the woods."

"Whelp, I'm officially out of ideas."

"Is this your attempt to rationalize mom being an amazing adventurer but also apparently being a bit like me?"

"Kind of? I mean, I know we know nothing about her, really, but she left Uncle Scrooge a note when she stole something," Dewey said. "We'd be lucky if you left a fingerprint."

"You ain't wrong." Louie handed the helmet back to him. "But just because we have similar traits doesn't mean we used them the same way. Or maybe she did. It's not like we'll ever know."

Dewey flinched. "Yeah, I know. That sucks."

"Well, we  _could_  ask Uncle Donald."

"But then he'd get all teary-eyed and sad, and that's _worse_. We can't do that to him."

* * *

_Over·en·thu·si·as·tic | \ˌō-vər-in-ˌthü-zē-ˈa-stik,_

_Adjective._

_Having or showing an excessive degree of enthusiasm: overly enthusiastic._

It's more often that Webby gets paired with Huey and Dewey, as they usually tend to run after her, but there are times when Webby and Louie get bundled together for an adventure. Louie doesn't usually mind, but usually Webby isn't trying to get him to jump over a pit of saws either.

"How are these still running?" he asked. "They've been here for  _ages_  now."

"We have to get over," she insisted, pointing at the wall across the way. "See that? Uncle Scrooge and the others went by and marked it."

" _Or_ ," Louie said, "we could go back to the Sunchaser, maybe put on some DW, and not risk losing our limbs in a gory fashion?"

Webby made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat.

"Fine, fine." It was absolutely  _not_  fine as Louie shuffled a bit closer to the edge. He did want to get better at assessing situations, didn't he? Death was as good a teaching tool as anything else. "Are you  _sure_  that's Uncle Scrooge's mark? I don't see any paint."

"He left the paint on the ship, remember?"

"Last time he did that, he left a scrap of his shirt instead."

"Louie."

"Alright, alright, I'll take your word for it."

Louie moved as far away as he could while keeping the saws in sight, then went towards them at a sprint, rethinking this whole plan a second too late. He leapt and instinctively curled his hands across his face, praying that his good looks would be preserved for future TV interviews. There was a ripping noise as pain traveled across his arm. He landed on the other side with a solid thud.

"Ow," he said.

"You okay?"

"Peachy." Louie pulled his hoodie off, carefully hanging a sleeve over a saw, ripping it free. He put it back on and set about wrapping the cut on his arm. It wasn't nearly as deep as it could be, but it stung like the dickens. "Your turn, Webs."

She landed much more gracefully than he did, though she managed to get a cut on her foot, which she promptly ignored in favor of studying the wall. "Huh. It's not his mark after all."

Louie fell onto his back. "I just risked my life for  _more_  abandonment issues. Thanks, Webby."

"I'm sorry, Louie." Webby sat down next to him, rocking just slightly. "I really wanted us to not be lost anymore. Adventures are more fun when you're not lost."

"Hmm," Louie said, rubbing his roughly bandaged arm. He could feel embarrassment rolling off her in waves of heat.

"D'ya think we should just head back to the Sunchaser?"

"Probably, but I dunno which long and treacherous hallway leads back to it." Louie paused, wondering if this counted as his first useful reading of a situation since Uncle Scrooge plopped the concept onto his head. What a letdown. "You?"

Webby reluctantly shook her head. "You know, for two smart people, we can be real dumb."

"Amen, sister."

* * *

_Guid·ance. /ˈɡīdəns/_

_Noun._

_Advice or information aimed at resolving a problem or difficulty, especially as given by someone in authority._

"Ow!" Louie hissed a breath out between his teeth as Donald carefully patted along the cut with a rag of antiseptic. "Am I really like mom, or did Uncle Scrooge just say that to make me feel better?"

Donald paused. "Scrooge said what?"

"After the game night," he explained. "Scrooge told me mom was good at looking at stuff, and I am too."

"You are," Donald agreed. "Della was very sly. She preferred her books and her guts, but sometimes..." He cleared his throat. "She could trick most anybody. Sure tricked me a time or two."

"Was there anything she  _couldn't_  do?" Louie asked, only half-joking.

"Cook. She made me seem like a pro," he grunted. Donald tightened the crisp white bandage around his arm. "She was always weirded out by roly polys, and the first time she saw an isopod she had nightmares about it for months. She was  _way_  smarter 'n me, but she did her homework less than I did, and she got in trouble for vandalizing the books all the time. She spent almost two full years studying Möbius Whales in the field, but said Moby Dick was unrealistic because of Ahab's obsession."

Donald stopped to suck in a deep breath. Louie could hear the tremor in his voice. "Aww, Uncle Donald. Don't get all worked up on my account."

He shook his head. "It's fine. You boys deserve to know your mother." The duck set the first aid aside, bending on his knees so they were on eye level, hands on his shoulders. "Just because you share traits with your mom doesn't mean you have to be like her. You know that, right?"

Louie shrugged. "Mom was super cool. Everyone liked her. Why not try to be more like her?"

"Because this world can only handle one Della Duck every couple thousand years, and we got ours," he said. "You're not a Della. You're Louie Duck, and nobody else is ever gonna be that."

He scrunched his beak up. "That is the sappiest thing you've ever said."

"I read it in a book," he said, sheepish, then kissed Louie on the crown of his head.

* * *

_Clar·i·ty. /ˈklerədē/_

_Noun._

_The quality of being clear, in particular._

"...And that is the very long, unnecessarily in-depth reasoning behind why I want to know what you meant."

"I meant it as a compliment, lad," Scrooge said, looking very mildly bemused as he came around the edge of his work desk. "I didnae think it was very complicated."

"But it is, okay?" Louie huffed. "Am I supposed to be like mom, or am I supposed to be like you, or-"

"I never said ya  _had_  to be like anyone!" He cocked his head to the side. "Do yew always take compliments so literally?"

Louie sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Whatever, man. I just don't like to take chances."

"Yew love ta' gamble."

" _Cards_ , yeah. But what's the point of getting off the couch if it's just gonna come back to haunt me? The whole point of betting is the chance you'll win- when I rely on me, I never do." Louie flailed with frustration. "But it's all so vague! Do I talk about my feelings like Uncle Donald? Do I read nerd stuff like Huey so I know everything? Become a knight? Webby convinces people to fly through all sorts of death traps, am I supposed to be brave like her?"

" _Louie_ ," Scrooge said. Louie went quiet. "Nobody is exactly like the other. D'ya know how  _borin'_  that'd be? It's not an adventure if every single person has done it." The old duck ruffled his feathers fondly. "Ye cannae be like me any more than I can be yew." He plucked his glasses off his beak and placed them on Louie's. "See? Can't see outta somebody else's prescription."

"I guess." Louie pushed them up a little. "Actually, these aren't as bad as I thought they'd be."

"Oh, they're bad. I've got the eyesight of a worm."

The youngest triplet ignored him. "Is this why people wear glasses when they read? I've never been able to see so far."

"Laddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are yew saying yew  _can_  see outta those?"

"Sort of? It's super warped, but the fuzz is gone a little."

Scrooge made grabbing motions. Louie reluctantly returned the spectacles, watching without a word as he cleaned and put them back on himself. He held up a peace symbol. "How many fingers?"

"I'm insulted."

"Louie."

"Two. Duh."

Scrooge crouched with a grunt of displeasure, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Ye see that plaque over there? Read it to me."

Louie squinted at a vaguely square shaped fixture on the wall. "Nobody can read something that far away."

His scowl deepened. "Whereabouts does the 'fuzz' start?"

"I dunno. Around here?" He held his hand out, stretching the fingers out experimentally.

"Cast me kilts," Scrooge said, then facepalmed. "Laddie, yer eyes are bad."

"What? No. They're fine."

"Then read me that plaque."

Louie snatched the glasses off his beak. "You read it!"

"I wear those so I  _can_  read it! Now gimme those back, yer smudgin' them." Scrooge put them on and stood up to pace. "No wonder ye've been havin' so much trouble! Yer blind as a bat!"

"My eyes are fine," Louie insisted, trying to catch his coattail and failing. "And even if they weren't- which, again, they are- that wouldn't magically solve why I suck at adventures! I suck at them because I don't train like Webby, or do outdoorsy stuff like Huey, or do pretty much _anything_  Dewey does."

"Of course not!" The old man pinched the edge of his beak. "I've been leadin' yew into danger yew can't even see! How could ya possibly hope to grow if yew can't even look ten inches front of yer nose?" Scrooge pulled his phone out. "I'm settin' you up with my optometrist."

Louie grabbed his wrist. "Hey, funny thought? Let's not do that. Uncle Donald already feels bad enough that he couldn't give us a rip-roaring childhood. Adding glasses on top of that's not exactly gonna help."

"Louie..." Scrooge let out a frustrated sigh. "Laddie, I want ye to be able to be the best yew can be. Lemme take care of this."

"But Uncle Donald-"

" _Will understand_. Donald loves yew boys more than anything." He grabbed a shoulder and squeezed. "Can't unpack a gift if ye cannae see the wrapping."

Louie stared him down, trying to decide. Trying to parcel out his face, and his voice, and what it all meant to the geezer. What kind of return he was expecting of this. He didn't doubt that Scrooge had some bill typed out somewhere, highlighting every expense he and his brothers had used, ready to be handed out once they were old enough to work. He'd emptied out a good chunk of his bin searching for Della, and there was an ironic fit to her sons helping him regain that wealth in one way or another.

But maybe he just wanted to help. He'd gotten them toys they didn't need before- more food than was strictly necessary. The caffeine addict in him had never been so satisfied for such a prolonged period of time. Maybe, after all that, Scrooge McDuck had finally learned to open his wallet a bit... only to get hit with what would probably be pricey doctor bills. That only made him worse.

...Seeing properly could help him get that money back for him, of course, and then some. Maybe this could be his first adventure strategy- get glasses, get good at adventures, get enough money to pay for himself. It wasn't much different than his usual scams, barring the very real threat to his life gathering gold and other treasures had.

He could do that.

"...Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this kind of came out of nowhere, but I'm down! It kind of ignores the Louie Inc. bit at the end of the new episode, but this could be the gap between that talk and Louie making the company, I guess?
> 
> Fun Fact: re-reading this with the knowledge that Louie's eyes are screwy helps put a lot into perspective- running into the table, him relying on Webby to know Scrooge's mark (even though he clearly knew what it was), stuff like that.
> 
> Here's to season two!
> 
> -Mandaree1


End file.
